The diamond drill. (Crystal Falls, Iron County, Mich.) 1887-1996, 1887-03-19
THE OLD ABBEY'S LEGEND
The Tower Bell at Midnight.

JOuTutylHB tHIOuRn w dlhiChouHci
England, we found shelter by accident
in an old abbey, somber pile that
had been built in the reign of Henry
j, as hospital for the Knights OF ST.
John, and afterwards became an alb
hey or monastery. In the reign OF
Elizabeth the destroyed portions were
rebuilt and the relic thus restored had
been retained in the family Of the Earl
of Warwick for three centuries. Every
room was eloquent of the long past.
Antique furniture, mullioned windows,
wainscotings in oak, beds heavily cur
tanned, and great dark rafters pro-
duced and continued the general SOM
Der and ghostly effect.
AS night came on the sun sank
below the horizon in chaos OF
clouds, which seemed TO rise up
and drown its light, and through
which glowed stain of angry red.
The wind rose suddenly and set the
Gothic gables and chimneys shiyering
and creaking The windows ratified
and innumerable phantom ghosts were
conjured up from the semi gloom.
Our only relief from the ghostly at
mosphere was TO gather more closely
around the broad fireplace piled with
logs, which sent up CHEEKY showers of
yellow light and put into wide contrast
our antique surroundings. There was
certainly mystery connected with
this old monastic pile of buildings.
Our drawing-room was labeled
"St. Mary Magdalen," and our
sleeping apartments "St Claudes"
and asst. Agatha" - heirlooms
doubtless from the old abbey.
But il was not merely breath from
the remote past which gave ms hint
OF hidden secrets-it was haunting
memory of human tragedy which
voiced itself in the dead of night in
mournful whisperings and anguished
sobs, and gentle tappings against the
solid masonry, ending at last in the
long vibrations of solemn tolling bell
and the chanting of some Franciscan
brother. We heard IL all the first night
we slept in our ST. Agatha bedroom.
"Who rings the tower bell at mid
night?" we enquired OF our little maid
Ahe next day. She nearly dropped the
tray on which she was bringing our
coffee. in the sudden surprise Of the
question.
"You heard-the beVf" she faltered
rather than asked.
eyes," replied one of our party
"and who chants the miserere in such
a silver voice after the tolling is overy''
The brown-haired waiting maid was
evidently oppressed by our questioning.
She turned a shade paler as she hest
tatingly replied. "They say-it is
brother Cecil, the good monk" and
then hastily retreated from the room.
After that her lips were sealed. In
vain we tried 10 get the story from
some inmate OF the manor-house.
EVERYBODY was astonishingly innocent
of all knowledge Of that kind. No
body ever knew OF any particular his
tory connected with the building. But
at last our opportunity came. AZ
last we discovered our garrulous anti
quarian. The big book which he kept
for registering visitors showed the
names OF some OF our distinguished
countrymen. General Giant, Mark
Twain, Hawthorne, and the Bancroft
family, had all written their auto.
graphs in the antiquariah's volume
From him we learned the mournful
story of "Faire Margery."
X was in the reign OF Henry
I'LL during the baronial wars, which
web so fertile in tragic anc
rof hntic incident. The governor
of "a certain castle, In q sudden
foflf against an ally of he king
"a ID the day, and besides dsspoiling
hl penny Of much treasure, bok cap